


Ouanga

by fundamentalBlue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Mild Gore, Zombies, fluffier than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fundamentalBlue/pseuds/fundamentalBlue
Summary: Steve wakes up to the sound of screaming.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 92
Collections: Stony Loves Steve 2020





	Ouanga

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venusiaries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusiaries/gifts).



> Prompt: Steve wakes up from the ice straight into a zombie breakout in SHIELD's facilities. He runs out into pandemonium on the streets of a futuristic New York, where he is saved by Iron Man. Later, he meets Tony Stark, who claims that the serum is their only chance of saving the world, despite no one ever having figured it out before, and Steve is forced into staying at Stark Tower.
> 
> Thank you ResurrectedHippo for the alpha and Poppy for the beta!

Steve wakes up to the sound of screaming. 

It’s distant and thin, echoing down some as of yet unseen hallway. There’s shuffling outside, and as he lays prone on the bed trying to get his bearings, he hears thumping against the walls, as if they’re hollow and not insulated. There’s a radio playing, but he ignores it in favor of honing in on whatever is happening outside the room. 

He sits up just as the handle to the door starts to jiggle, back and forth, as if a child is trying to open the door. There’s a tension in the air, and he thinks that he’s not in Kansas anymore. Wherever this is, the decor is disjointed, the atmosphere wrong. Like someone has tossed together the pieces of a life but gave no thought as to the utility of it all. 

He refocuses on the door as it slips open. The sounds are louder now, with harsh and guttural cries and the groan of broken vocal cords. It sounds as though there’s a war going on, but it’s nothing he’s ever heard before. 

When the woman steps in, his blood runs cold. The first thing he notices, the very first thing, is her empty expression, eyes unblinking, lips parted as her jaw hangs slack from her face. Her outfit is stained with splatters of red and it runs in rivulets down her legs to her uneven shoes; one of the heels is broken off. It’s the blood on her teeth that shocks him into action. 

“Ma’am.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say. So very wrong. 

Her face contorts as she takes swift strides to the bed, teeth bared in a rictus of hunger. When her broken fingers reach for his arm and shoulder, he almost lets her bear down on him, mouth poised to bite before instinct kicks in and he launches her away from him with his foot. She clatters to the floor, not bothering to protect her head or body, a puppet without strings. 

It’s enough to jar him out of whatever thoughts he had about finding out where this place is. He needs to get out. His tactical mind suggests there are more of whatever she is waiting outside. That’s just how it’s going to have to be. It’s instinctual too, that he should not let these creatures touch him if he can help it, much less bite down. 

Damn, it would have been nice to have a uniform, but he’s clad in a tight t-shirt and khakis. 

He bolts from the bed before the woman can stand on her shaky legs, and makes his way out the door. 

Outside is pandemonium. Men in more tactical gear than he’s ever seen in the army are clustered in twos and threes, firing relentlessly at the door through which more broken and bleeding people are streaming through. There are only so many bullets, Steve knows, and the stream of people is endless. He looks for another exit, finds it, and bolts to the door, depressing the handle and spills out into a large hallway. There’s fewer of the shambling people here, if they can truly be called people, but they all look at him as if they are one hive mind and let out horrid gurgles and moans, their lips peeling back from their teeth. 

Steve runs. 

Which is when he sees that outside is no better. 

His options limited, he figures he can outrun or otherwise dodge whoever is outside until he makes it to higher ground. He’s got to try, anyway. Shoving a few of the creatures away from him, their grasping hands sliding off his skin, he makes it through the doorway. And ends up in a warzone. 

There’s fires, cars, and smoke for miles, and surrounding him are the milling people who collectively take up the call that Steve figures means ‘food.’ It ripples through the crowd of them, echoing off buildings and reverberating back towards the creatures that stand before him. 

Thousands. There are thousands. 

But he’s fought impossible odds before, and he’s not going down without a fight. 

They swarm as one, their limbs moving irrespective of the others around them. It helps, as some of them trip, fall, and are trampled underneath the oncoming horde. 

Steve is a flurry of kicks and punches, hands and bare feet becoming as bloody as the mass around him, but it’s not enough. They go for his legs, his shoulders, everywhere. There’s only so fast he can move, and he doesn’t have his shield.

Steve is brutal in retaliation. Cruel, even. 

He can tell that they’re alive. They bleed like humans and die just like them. This is nothing like having an enemy you know is evil. He suspects these are all innocents under some kind of thrall. It makes him feel an immense sense of guilt as he pummels them to pieces. 

As his strength wanes, he starts to pray. Mostly for the souls of these poor creatures, but also that if he should fall, that it’s swift. Painless is too much to ask for at this point. 

Which is, of course, when he hears it. There’s a soft hum moving towards him at breakneck speeds. It becomes a whurr, and he tries to see above the crowd to what might be headed towards him.

As he does so, a few of the creatures get a good bite in, piercing his bicep and the back of his neck. It stings, and he thinks about how filthy the wound would be with their mouths being full of other people’s blood. In any case, he’s not going to get the chance to die of infection. 

The whurr turns into a whine and he feels the wind of an aircraft of some kind above him. Except it’s a metal man, hovering above him with arms pointed at the ground and rays of light emanating from his palms. 

“Need a lift?” Steve doesn’t answer so much as he raises a battered arm that the robot takes in hand and hoists. Hands grasp at his pants, pulling him down, but the metal man is stronger. Steve swings for a second in the air before he’s pulled up nearer the chest of the metal plates and he clamors onto the feet of the machine that’s carrying him, wrapping an arm around its waist.

“I’m Iron Man. Welcome to the apocalypse.” Steve promptly passes out.

\--

When he wakes up, the lights are stunning in their brightness. The floor and the ceiling are lit with a crisp white that defies any type of lighting he’s ever seen. The bed is more comfortable, with its pristine sheets and not a single spring digging into his back. He gets up and takes a look around. 

Wall to wall glass. Did they really think that would keep him locked in? 

On instinct, he punches against it, smashing his damaged knuckles down onto the surface. 

It bounces _back_ , not a single crack leftover. 

“Hey! Stop that now. If that thing can contain the Hulk, it can certainly contain Steve ‘punch things as a solution’ Rogers.” The man on the other side is fiddling at a terminal, eyes not on Steve at all, and it’s as infuriating as it is insulting. As if he doesn’t expect that Steve could escape if he truly wanted. 

“Get me out. Now,” he hisses. His goddamn arms _ache_ and he looks down to see swollen bite marks and scratches. He’d thought that when he punched he felt weaker. Guess he was right. Though the serum has always taken care of his injuries more quickly than this before. 

“No can do, Capsicle.” When the man looks up, Steve knows then that this is a Stark. He’s got Howard written all over him, with something more glinting in his eyes and swimming under the smile on his face. Howard had been an attractive man; a womanizer, but still beautiful. This person, some relative of his, is effortlessly gorgeous. Steve wonders if he can seduce the man, because he’s not above it, if it gets him out. 

“You can’t keep me in here.” There are laws. 

“Can.” The man is back to the terminal now, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“You would hold someone against their will?” 

“Judge all you want, Cappy. At this point, we are all going to die. I intend to deserve it.” Which is not really an answer. He needs to play it calm, try to gain this man’s cooperation, his trust. That’s when he opens his big mouth, however. 

“You’re on the right track.” Steve has never been one for bullies. And he feels like trapping someone in an unbreakable glass cage counts as bullying. 

“Hey, my conscience is clear. I mean, technically alcohol is a solvent.” 

“Fine. What is going on? Who are you? Why am I locked in here?” 

“One question at a time, ice, ice baby. In order, we have zombies caused by some kind of virus that makes them crave human flesh, I’m Tony Stark, and you, my unfortunate friend, are fighting off the virus that the infected gave you when they chomped down on your arms. Whether you recover or not, determines my next steps.” Steve looks down again at his arms, and realizes that yes, they’re definitely infected. Puffy and red around the edges, the swollen flesh is just this side of too hot. 

“So this can kill me?” 

“Oh no darling, it’ll just turn you into one of _them_. And I sure hope it’s not a super zombie, because that would really suck a fat one.” Steve doesn’t know these references at all, but he figures out the meaning of the latter.

Tony Stark begins to ramble at that point, telling him his name, all about the organization that had him first, SHIELD, and how with the new virus, they’d botched his awakening. And yes, his poorly timed retrieval from the arctic where he’d been frozen, then defrosted, then dropped into the middle of the worst crisis humankind had ever faced. 

It was all over the world. Every field, mountain, sea, and forest. Transferable by fluid, it was too easy to catch and had a high infection rate. Tony didn’t know the exact numbers, because if you weren’t responsive to the infection, you were _eaten_ by those who were. Apparently this was very bad for statistical analysis. 

“So how long do I stay here?” Tony checks his watch and grimaces at it. 

“You should have already started the process, but the serum seems to be fighting it off. It remains to be seen if you’ll actually heal though? So, I’d say if you cooperate, and let us draw blood without leaving, we’ll let you out when we find antibodies. But I mean, you are much more likely to die, so.” 

“That doesn’t answer the question.” He taps the glass with a finger, not wanting to allow Tony to leave him here without answering all his questions. 

“Well, I don’t have the answer Mr. Persnickety. Or would you rather zombie-out in a room full of people and eat them all? We have our safety to consider.” 

Ok. Ok. That’s reasonable. He doesn’t want it to be the rational decision, but it is. 

“Alright. I agree to the terms. I won’t try to escape the containment. But last thing, where the heck am I anyway? And why is everything so… different?” 

“Ah, damn, SHIELD didn’t even brief you? Well, welcome to 2011 Cap. It’s been a wild ride, which you’ve missed out on the beginnings of, being frozen in the arctic for 70 years, give or take. So yup, yadda yadda, it’s the future, and we’re in the midst of a zombie tragedy in my tower, which is locked up tighter than a nun’s knickers.” 

“Zombies, you say.”

“You know, White Zombie of 1930s fame? Its sequel? Not ringing any bells in that blond head of yours? You really did miss a lot of culture. Don’t worry, I got you. I’ll bring some things for you to read shortly.” Tony starts to scurry off, and Steve calls out to him to stop him from leaving. Steve doesn’t want to be alone, he realizes. 

But here he is, again, stuck in a life or death situation.

The world hasn’t changed much. 

\-----

It’s been twenty-four hours and some change. He’s counted. 

So far he’s met another quiet man named Bruce, two other people who carry themselves like killers, named Natasha and Clint, and a jovial, muscular man who insists that he’s the _actual_ Thor. Which is how Steve knows this is all could be a bunch of bull. 

Nonetheless, he cooperates for the blood tests, letting Bruce’s gentle hands slide a needle under his skin and draw several vials of blood each time. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it, he has antibodies that are gobbling the virus up. It’s accelerating from an hour ago when there were fewer of them. He’s going to heal completely, I think. The virus is lodged in the nerve cells, but this could send it into remission. I’d give him something to stimulate the virus so it can be completely killed, but I think he’ll stay in remission indefinitely.”

“I think it’s time you all let me out now.” Steve hates how they talk about him like he’s not there. Like he’s just a science experiment. It reminds him bitterly of his USO days. The uselessness he felt being a trained monkey on stage. 

“Yeah, yeah. Ok, open the containment unit. But I swear to god if you start getting mouthy or handsy and do that groaning thing, your ass is grass.” Tony is the one with the mouth. It’s a constantly moving thing, whether he’s speaking, biting the inside of his cheek or curving his lips into a smile, it’s distracting with its restlessness. 

He knows now that the metal man is Iron Man, Tony’s superhero costume and all-around containment unit that has kept him from getting bitten when he goes out. Steve doesn’t know about the others, who he’s only seen briefly, besides Bruce.

It’s unimaginable to have been stuck in this tower for even a month, but this group of specialized people has been, along with a few hundred refugees from the streets. Keeping them all fed has been a problem. Even Tony has had to leave Steve to go out and scrounge for whatever is left out there for people to eat. 

He thinks he can help these people. He must. Because as he relaxes into the 21st century, he realizes the world really hasn’t changed too much, besides the obvious. There are still people that need saving. And that he can do.

How remains to be seen, but he’s going to try. 

“Ok Steve. Run and be free little butter-cap-fly!” Tony waves his arms wildly, the doors popping open. It’s just Bruce and Tony right now. He steps out, flexing his back and shoulders as if they’ve been as cramped as he’s felt the past day. 

“All right, so what’s next?” he asks. 

The double doors leading out from the room bust open at that point, and Natasha and Thor are bodily carrying Clint between them. The man is covered in blood, and Steve’s stomach drops. He doesn’t know the man, but any human would feel upset at watching someone else suffer, only to turn into a mindless creature bent on consuming other people. It’s horrible. Everything about this is a special kind of awful. 

He moves out of the way as they shuffle past him to place Clint in the room he’s just left. 

“He’s got about twenty minutes. Stark, give me something.” Natasha looks at Tony, demand evident on her features. She isn’t going to take no for an answer. Tony balks and looks at Bruce. 

“It’s worth a shot,” Bruce says, as if he and Tony are of one mind.

“Ok, let’s do this. Come here blood-bag.” Tony snaps his fingers at Steve. “We don’t have time to separate the antibodies, so you’re going to just hang out and pump some blood to Clint. I’m locking you in, because if it doesn’t work, well, it doesn’t matter if he bites you, does it?”

“Strap him down then. Have some compassion for how we help him move on, if this doesn’t work.” He’s determined now. However this goes, he’s going to give Clint some dignity.

“It’ll work. It has to. And he hates being strapped down. That’s _Clint_. He doesn’t stay in medical for anyone.” 

“All right, fine, let’s get to work then,” Steve says. 

“Already on it.” Tony strolls over, carrying tubing and needles. “Both sides sweetheart.” 

Steve’s insides stir a little at the endearment, and he examines Tony up close. Close cropped goatee with a dark pink mouth and even darker amber eyes, Tony is pretty in a way that reminds him of Peggy. In all of this, he hasn’t had a chance to even think about her, and he frowns. Tony catches it, because he darts his eyes away from Steve’s face, and damn, he must think Steve means him. 

“Sorry, just—thinking about the past,” he offers, his words unsteady. The other man looks back up, wide eyes taking in Steve’s face.

“Uh, yeah, for sure. Um, so this should be easy, so long as you stand up the entire time. Try not to jostle the needles.” Tony coughs then, and turns away. If Nat weren’t watching the two of them so carefully, he would smile at Tony’s little bit of embarrassment. In another time and place, he might ask Tony to go out with him for a walk, if that was still acceptable. Steve’s gotten good at reading the room when it comes to the illegalities of being with men. Tony is receptive, but concerned. 

It’s kind of the end of the world though. And there’s no police here or other authority figures to stop them if they want to spend it with each other. 

Clint is a quiet presence next to him, while Natasha’s hovering is louder in attendance, her hands fiddling with Clint’s clothing and trying to wipe the blood off of his wounds. 

“Nat, come on,” Tony implores. 

“I stay. If I lose him, it doesn’t matter anyway.” With that, Tony doesn’t argue, though he tosses Steve a careful expression that Steve thinks says ‘don’t let my friend die.’ He won’t. 

The transfusion is done in less than 15 minutes, with no time to spare. Clint wakes up once during, and Natasha shushes him as he asks to be put out of his misery. They’re all hoping this works. 

Tony pulls the needles out after he’s given a couple of pints, which would make a normal man dizzy, but only moderately inconveniences him. Clint is now breathing normally, and his wounds have puffed up as Steve’s did. Bruce takes a sample of Clint’s blood and finds that Steve’s antibodies are going to work on the virus inside of Clint. He just needs time and rest. 

They move him out on a stretcher to medical, Bruce, Thor, and Natasha carrying Clint with them. That just leaves Tony and Steve. 

Tony, who is bent over his technology, a distant look on his face. 

“Should probably clean that bed up, get new sheets on it,” Tony says, exhaustion lining his features. He’s still beautiful, and Steve wants him.

“I’ll help.” They work silently, not side by side, but close enough. It’s peaceful, and he has more of a chance to catch Tony’s attention. Steve isn’t usually this reckless, but the circumstances make him feel like he has no time to lose. 

When their hands touch each other as they draw back the sheet, they both stop for a moment, before Steve curls his fingers around Tony’s, so briefly, before pulling away. 

“What was that?” Tony looks at him with something dark lurking under the surface of those complicated brown eyes. 

“What do you think it is?” He cocks his head, giving Tony what he knows is his most winsome smile. 

“I think Captain America just came on to me.” Tony returns that smile with a playful smirk of his own, marred only by the smallest amount of apprehension. Steve wants to kiss it away. 

“And what if he is?” Half-hard in his pants now, their faces are leaning closer over the bed, breath warm on each other. 

“Well, sweet thing, ask not what your Captain America can do for you, but what you can do for your Captain America.” At that, Tony leans in for a filthy kiss, which Steve returns with enthusiasm. The bed is stripped of all the bloody sheets, and as they pull at each other, Steve finagles them onto the narrow mattress, their legs intertwining as they plunder each other’s mouths, lips sucking on the other’s tongue before pulling at lips with little bites. 

“Want to fuck that pretty mouth of yours,” he says, hoping Tony is amenable. It is so very pretty, and even more gorgeous wet with spit and red from use. He wonders if Tony can take his entire length. He wants to find out. 

“You are so—yeah, I want your cock down my throat. Suck me too?” And isn’t that the best image he’s had in a long time. 

Steve shifts then, his head towards Tony’s feet and vice versa. In front of him is a clothed Tony, erection straining at the fabric. He relieves him, unzipping and pulling down his pants as Tony’s cock springs up near his face. It’s also a nice shade of pink, and Steve nuzzles at the base of it, tongue darting out to lick at Tony’s balls underneath. 

Soon Tony has Steve’s pants removed as well, and they both spend time breathing in the musk and sweat of one another. It’s Tony’s scent that contains traces of metal, like hot steel and solder. Tony moves first, leg hitching up and over Steve’s hips while taking Steve into his mouth in one long gulp, his cock bypassing a non-existent gag reflex as the head constricts in Tony’s throat. 

It’s heaven, and Steve lets his head drop forward onto Tony’s thighs for a moment. There are no thoughts to collect, but he wants to make this good for Tony, so he tries to put himself back together, pulling his head back to look at the picture before him. 

Steve takes his time, dragging his fingers across Tony’s tightening scrotum and up against the shaft to the swollen glands. His hands still have their calluses and he drags them roughly along the curve of the head while Tony moans, wanton. Steve traces a vein on the underside of Tony’s cock with his tongue before drawing back up to the tip. There’s a pearl drop of liquid waiting at the slit, and Steve laps it up. 

The taste of Tony swirls around in his mouth, and he opens wide to seek more of it as his lips tighten over Tony’s cock and he pulls his hips towards Steve’s face. He’s strong enough to lift Tony just in the slightest bit to get the angle right before he swallows him whole down to the root. 

Tony groans around Steve’s cock, and he focuses on the sensation of Tony suckling at him with loud lip smacks and the occasional pop as he pulls off and resituates. 

They both go at each other, almost competitive in their movements. Steve twists his head as he pulls up and twists it back as he goes down. Tony opts for tightening his mouth as he squeezes the base of Steve’s cock with it. It makes him want to feel what it would be like to be inside Tony in another way. They both start to thrust minutely, keeping in time with one another’s movements. Steve doesn’t want it to end, but he’s eager to nail Tony to this bed with his cock, make the man feel it for days. 

He pulls off and rolls to his feet, leaving Tony’s legs spread and his cock looking debauched with saliva. It lays flat on his stomach, twitching and shiny, the swollen head leaking a lazy stream of precum. 

“Want to fuck you, Tony.” Steve looks down at the picture of Tony before him. The man is stripped but for his shirt, and he’s utterly beautiful even in the harsh lighting. Every patch of olive skin is smooth and it slides over lean muscle as Tony wriggles in place. 

“Yeah Cap? I’ll be honest, this is a dream come true for me. If I had a camera and less of a moral imperative to preserve your dignity, I’d have so many pictures of your all-american ass and cock right now. But I’ve been good. Don’t you think I’ve been good, Steve?” 

“You’ve been such a good boy. And as your Captain, I’d like to reward that.” Tony’s face lights up and he rolls off the bed, scampering over to a cabinet before pulling out a bottle of lubricant and heading back to the bed, bouncing as he tosses himself back into position.

“Do you really keep lubricant in the lab?” It’s endearing and convenient. 

“I have to be sure that I don’t miss any opportunities with stray Captain Americas that cross my path.” Steve chuckles at that and strokes himself back to hardness. With Tony in front of him, all long lines and mirth, it’s easy to get back to firmness.

“So you’ve been waiting for me, is that it darlin’?” Tony turns over to his stomach before hitching up his hips, exposing his ass for Steve. 

“Maybe I have. Now, don’t you think I’ve waited long enough? Have mercy, Steve.” Tony all but bats his lashes as he splays his legs apart and arms forward, looking ripe for the taking. 

Mercy? He’ll have Tony begging before this is out. 

He snatches the bottle of lube from next to Tony and coats his fingers in it, maintaining eye contact with Tony the entire time. When he sees Tony’s breath hitch, he moves behind him, fingers tracing up and down Tony’s crack. Every time he moves past Tony’s hole, the man gives a slight, sharp inhale. 

“You want mercy baby? I think you need to look elsewhere, because I am going to _work you._ ” Steve presses in with one finger up to the last knuckle, before twisting it out again. He plunges it in once again, catching the rim on his way out and in. He loves watching Tony suck him in, his hole greedy and wanting. 

With one finger in Tony’s ass, he uses the others to rub on Tony’s perineum, causing Tony to whine and lean forward. Steve snatches at his hips and hauls him back onto his finger, before slipping him another. 

“Be a good boy and take it, Tony. And then I’ll give you what you need.” Tony cries out in _oh god_ ’s and a mantra of _please_. His own cock is rock hard, and he’s certain when he gets inside Tony, he’s going to explode. So he makes it good for Tony, moving his arm so that his palm faces downward and his two fingers brush directly against Tony’s prostate. He pumps them in just so, tilting his arm up so he can slam them down onto Tony’s hot button. Tony is bucking wildly now, pressing his hips back onto Steve’s ministrations. 

“So good for me. Want to have you now,” Steve croons at Tony. He doesn’t waste time, slips himself behind Tony and holds his head between his wet fingers and thumb as he rubs it on Tony, looking for purchase to get inside. He finds it on the third pass and presses in. Tony groans and presses back, helping Steve slide up to the hilt. 

The slap of skin punctuates every slam of his hips and he watches the globes of Tony’s ass bounce on him with each thrust. 

He can’t hold on, not with Tony stretched tight around him, the pink rim gripping with each extraction of his length. Reaching around, he grasps Tony’s cock and starts gently twisting it from base to head and down again. Tony howls into the bed and erupts onto Steve’s hand as Steve follows him, bottoming out and filling Tony up as deep as he can. He wants his cum leaking out of Tony for hours. 

Steve leans forward and clenches Tony’s hands in his own as he undulates his thrusting to get the last bit inside of Tony. Tony hums, high pitched, but takes it. 

After, they’ve gotten up and they’re shuffling around, getting their clothes on, when Nat jogs into the room. She ignores their state of undress in favor of delivering her message. 

“Clint is in a coma.” 

“Fuck.” Tony grabs his lab coat, and his shoes and runs barefoot out of the room, leaving Steve behind. 

“Be gentle with him,” Natasha’s eyes are hard on Steve. “We’ve all had a rough go of it, watching our friends and co-workers succumb to this. He doesn’t need one more thing that he’s going to lose. So whatever you do, you will remain on good terms with him.” 

Steve nods. He knows she doesn’t know exactly how he feels, which after their intimate session, he’s riding a high he hasn’t felt since he met Peggy. It’s disturbing but also a mercy that he’s feeling as good as he does. Only a day ago, he was in a plane ready to die to keep New York safe. The fear of losing hasn’t worn off, but somewhere in this, he’s found a light in the form of a strong, smart, opinionated brunet. 

“He’s safe with me,” Steve promises. 

“Then come with me. We may need more blood.” He gamely follows as she leads him to the medical center where all the people he’s met so far are gathered. 

“No, he doesn’t need more blood. He’s just recovering,” Bruce assures them.

“But is it normal for him to go into a coma?” Natasha is exuding quiet nervousness, and Steve recognizes the fine-tuned control she must have to keep her pain off her face. 

“We don’t know what’s normal with this. It could be better or worse for some people. Clint may be on the worse end. We just don’t know,” Bruce says. 

“If he can be cured, what of the humans outside?” Thor speaks, the first time Steve has heard him say anything at all. They all look at each other, Steve included. 

“Do I have enough blood for that?” That’s the real question.

“I think we can stimulate the blood we have already collected to grow more antibodies, but yes, we’ll need more at some point. I think we should test aerosol delivery. Tony, are the lower floors still filled with zombies?”

“Um, yes, but many have starved. They won’t eat each other until there’s nothing else to consume. There’s no reason I can tell why they turn on one of their own kind, but eventually, they do. It’s—it’s hard to remember they’re people. My employees.” Tony’s eyes focus on some distant point across the room, and Steve can’t imagine what that must be like. He had one interaction with the woman in the room he’d been placed in, and that was enough. Even though he didn’t know her, he thinks he’ll see her in his nightmares. 

“But JARVIS can release the aerosol through the vents and contain it to one floor, right?” Bruce asks, gentle. 

“Right! It’s worth a try, and if it’s successful, we can let more in from the street and get them to safety. Yes, it’s a plan, I mean, I bet I could crop dust the entire street anyway, but that would be complicated—” Tony is muttering to himself, looking into a microscope and fiddling with the lenses. Who knew they’d gotten so small. 

“Let’s start with a floor. I’ll stay here and watch Clint.” Natasha’s eyes haven’t left the prone form of Clint on the bed, who is breathing steadily in and out, wounds looking infected but better than the fresh and nasty bleeding cuts he’d had before. Steve is more than happy to help if it’s his blood that can save people. He’s never been as useful as he is now, and it warms him, gives him hope that this world will contain more than survival and the pain of loss.

“Come, Captain! We have lunch options.” In all the mess of escaping where he’d woken up and healing from his bites, he’d forgotten how fast his metabolism is and how great his energy needs are. 

In the makeshift cafeteria, he sees the haggard faces of a few hundred people. It’s hard to look at it all in the face. The worn clothes, dead-eyed stares follow him even after he finishes his food. The guilt weighs on him; he doesn’t want to spend time with these people, even as they’re the ones he’s supposed to be saving. He doesn’t want their misery to rub off on him, and how selfish of him, he thinks. 

He thanks Thor and makes his way back to medical, hoping that Tony will tell him he can give more blood for the cure. 

“Just couldn’t stay away?” It’s only Tony and Clint in the room, the former still pipetting various liquids into other vials before placing them inside some kind of machine. 

“Nope.” Steve thinks of their tryst earlier and feels a stirring of lust for the man in front of him. The man who is doing his best to save a world that Steve doesn’t even understand quite yet. Sometimes he thinks he’ll wake up again the next time he sleeps and he’ll be back in the plane, but when he sees Tony, he feels grounded. 

“Damn straight. I’m delightful.” Steve can’t help but chuckle. 

\--

Days go by and Clint is still unresponsive to stimuli. But his wounds are healing slowly, the swelling retreating back into his skin.

Tony and Steve have fucked on most of the available surfaces. Steve doesn’t know if anyone else knows about them besides Natasha, but no one has said a word. Tony has told him that being homosexual is safer now, if not completely safe. Besides, there’s not really anyone to judge anymore. It’s one of the things Steve likes in 2011, though his favorite is undoubtedly Tony. 

Tony, who takes him so well each time, babbling endearments while Steve pummels him. He’s brilliant and whip-smart in a way that Steve can’t compare himself to. Even if Steve’s blood hadn’t helped solve this crisis, he thinks that Tony would have figured out a way on his own at some point. 

It’s only in Tony that he can lose himself, lose the past. Inside Tony, there is no loss, no drifting, or feelings of inadequacy. He’s sure he’s with the right person, doing the right thing, living the right life when Tony is in his arms. 

And the soft little smiles of contentment that Tony gives him? He keeps them all for himself, hoarding the sweetness that is his lover. He’s not sure if he’s ever been so happy, or if Tony has either. No matter what happens, they’re in this together, and they need barely any words to each other for both of them to know this is true. 

The only thing that interrupts their life is Tony’s work on producing more of Steve’s antibodies and monitoring Clint. It’s a small price to pay. 

It’s around 3 am when Clint first stirs, the machines hooked up to him screeching that the situation has changed. Steve has spent most of his time with Tony in the lab, but Tony is out looking for food, and Bruce and Steve are the only ones on hand to help Clint wake up. Natasha had been carried to her room after spending several days in medical by Clint’s side. It had taken a complete lack of sleep to get the better of her to the point where anyone could drag her from her friend’s side. 

“I should be dead.” Clint’s first words are rough, and the man coughs briefly. Bruce holds up a cup of water with a straw, which Clint drinks, grateful. 

It feels as though the atmosphere has breathed a collective sigh of relief at Clint’s recovery.  
\---

He should have known that nothing about this could remain isolated, idyllic even, as the world bled to pieces. The lab is quiet, the cage that both Steve and Clint have occupied in turns is clean now, waiting for whoever was bitten next. Steve thought it was inevitable that it would happen to someone. 

He just never saw it coming when it was Tony. 

They were supposed to be back an hour ago, Natasha and Tony, but they’d commed in that they were held up. When the coms went silent under Bruce’s watch, the other man tried not to make a fuss about it around Steve, but there was a tension to his shoulders that said the situation was serious. 

“I can go out and find them, bring them back.” 

“No, the rules are we stay. One flier at a time, and one to two ground units. We can’t afford to send Thor, and I need you here.” 

“But it’s Tony. He’s working on the cure.”

“These are Tony’s rules. Please, we have to respect them even if they seem unfair.” 

Steve was never good at following orders, and if he could have snuck away, he would have. But he’d learned all about Bruce’s little green problem, and he didn’t think he could just sneak by. On the list of rules were Don’t Make Bruce Angry along with Don’t Touch Tony’s Coffee Stash Upon Pain Of Death and the newest rule, Feed Steve Three Times A Day, Or Else. He didn’t have to like all the rules, but he liked some. 

He never got a chance to test whether he could escape, because the doors busted open once again, and Steve had a flashback to Clint, hoping it wasn’t the archer again, though not really thinking about who else it could possibly be. 

When Tony, pale-faced and unconscious came trundling in on the emergency gurney, his heart almost stopped. A man of action, he turned to Bruce and started rolling up his sleeves. 

“It’s been over twenty minutes. I don’t know how he’s still here and hanging on, but we’ve got to get antibodies in him, _now_. We don’t even know if the antibodies work on the fully infected.” Bruce was working quickly, tubes detangled and needles jammed into Steve’s arms at an uncomfortable angle. 

Which is right when Tony seized. His back arched off the bed they’d placed him on, his breath coming in quick pants as his left shoulder jerked and his eyes fluttered. Steve went to hold him down, but Bruce smacked away his hands. 

“We don’t hold people down in seizures anymore, let him ride it out.”

So Steve had to watch as Tony’s eyes rolled up and back, his mouth gaping open as his limbs tightened and twitched in turns. Drool tracked its way down Tony’s face, and Steve couldn’t help but wipe it up with a finger, trying to preserve some of Tony’s dignity. 

Bruce was gently calling Tony’s name as he made sure Tony didn’t thrash off the bed, and finally, Tony’s eyes stopped their unseeing stare and settled into something more aware. Bruce must have been an expert in this because that’s when he slipped the needle into Tony’s arm and Tony didn’t notice whatsoever. 

“It’s too late, isn’t it. Fuck the rules, I should have called Thor,” Nat mumbled, her hands covering her eyes as she strode away from the bed. 

“It’s never too late to try Nat. You did the best you could.” Bruce’s voice was soft, and it made Steve lurch into awareness that this shouldn’t have happened.

“Why was Tony out of the suit?” He was trying not to be angry, but he couldn’t think of a single reason that Tony should have been unprotected. 

“There was a child. It wouldn’t come to him, to Tony, in the suit. He only exposed his arm! Just his fucking arm and one of those things launched itself at him from the shadows. And when Tony enclosed the armor back up over it to get it off, it was too late. He’d been bitten. We tried with the child—we tried…” Natasha trailed off. He didn’t need to hear the rest of that sentence.

They all bow their heads over Tony’s bed as they wait. His wounds look puffy now, the blood cleaned off by Nat while Bruce has wiped down Tony’s face. But they all know that recovery is almost a certainty at this point. If Clint’s progress is to be believed. 

“Where are we on the cure?” He asks. 

“We need Tony for the rest of it. I think it’s ready to aerosolize.” While Steve is proud that Tony is a part of the cure, he’s also on tenterhooks regarding his lover. He’s hoping beyond hope that Tony’ll be fine. He has to be fine. 

“Do we know why Tony lasted as long as he did without turning?”

“No clue. Steve?” They both look at him as if he has the answer. 

“We’ve been—intimate, but surely that wouldn’t be relevant?” He prevaricates.

“I think so. It’s very TMI, but I think it’s possible you’ve given him antibodies through—well, you know.” Bruce is red-faced, hiding beneath his salt and pepper curls and not meeting Steve’s eyes. A sharp bark of laughter comes from Nat’s throat and she gives him the barest hint of a smile. 

“I never thought I’d thank Stark for sleeping with someone, but here we are. You got this Bruce?”

“Yeah, yeah, make sure the haul gets distributed.” Nat nods and strides out with purpose now, packing up all the emotion she had just let out when Tony’s fate was uncertain. 

It takes Tony less time to wake up than Clint, and within 72 hours, Tony’s beautiful brown eyes open, and meet Steve’s, who hasn’t left his side for more time than it’s taken to grab a shower and food before returning. 

The kiss they give each other is all kinds of sloppy and needing, lips diving in and out of each other’s mouths. Bruce flees the room as Tony laughs. 

“So. Magical healing dick!” Tony is sitting up in the bed drinking a cup of water and staring at Steve with glee in his eyes. 

“No, Tony, that’s not—” Steve tries. 

“Plus ten dick of healing!” 

“What? I—” 

“Inject me, Dr. Rogers,” Tony says, sultry and ridiculous. 

They don’t have time to knock boots before Bruce is having Tony ramp up the aerosolization of the cure. The plan is that Tony takes the stairs and sprays the spare people that have been wandering there as though they’re pernicious weeds. Clint will take to the vents, leaving nebulizers to rain mist down onto the groups on the floor itself, but not before making an unholy racket in order to drive the masses towards the cure. 

Tony won’t stop talking about how Steve has saved his life, and how he’s going to repay the favor as soon as Bruce stops making him work. Steve has to kiss the man again to shut him up. 

Floor 37 goes off without a hitch in execution, but the results are savage. Most of the people are already dying of secondary infections, which leaves Bruce synthesizing antibiotics at accelerated rates with limited supplies. Some of them crash to the ground after and don’t wake up again. Others wake and proceed to scream and claw at themselves and everything else in fear. 

Most vomit up various parts of other people they’ve swallowed, leaving the floors smelling of foul death and stomach acid. There’s too many to let stay in hospital beds, but in terms of relapse, not a single person turns back into a mindless, hungry beast. 

There are people who are alive and well again after all this time, and the tower is celebratory in mood, even with low food supplies and clean clothing. They know from there it’s going to be alright. It may take years to clear the planet, but they will do it. 

“You know, Fury had this idea for us, called the Avengers, where we’d save the world. And you know I thought that man was crazy and seeing things with his one eye. But here we are, saving the world from a survivalist’s wet dream, and we’re all together as Fury wanted. So maybe he was right, but don’t you dare tell him that if he’s still alive.” They’re sitting on the balcony of the Tower overlooking the city. Even the fires and smoke that’s still coating the sky looks cheery with the mood they’re in. Everything is going to be ok. 

“ _We have SHIELD. I repeat, we have SHIELD,_ ” Clint whoops over the coms, and Steve reaches a hand out to grasp Tony’s. Not all of it is made right yet, but it will be. Their fingers twist into each other’s, and it’s perfect. 

“Should we go help rebuild them? It’d put SHIELD in your debt.” He’s wheedling, he knows, but he loves to get Tony riled about things. The man is ever so animated when he’s ranting. Steve thinks Tony knows he’s being baited and does not care in the slightest. 

“Sweetie pie, I already own their ass.” Tony scoffs at Steve. 

“Might as well own the rest.” 

“Hey, if I do anything, it’s so we can have a better world the second time ‘round.” And Steve understands the look in Tony’s eyes. Aspirations for a remade world. There’ll always be corruption, but there’s something illuminating in helping save so many people, that they think future governments will be built on top of the selflessness of humanity instead of its blind ambition. 

“With you here, I think that’s more than just a dream, Tony.” 

“Steve Rogers, you flatterer. Keep talking that way and find out what happens.” In the sun, Tony’s hair shines with highlights, and his eyes sparkle with levity and hunger. Steve knows that desire is for him, and he hopes he’s mirroring it back to Tony. Maybe everything has burned down around them, but they’re still here, and there’s so much hope. 

“Not sure I can guess. Show me?” 

Tony does.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](https://fundamental-blue.tumblr.com/)


End file.
